


Keep Breathing

by Eltuine



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Aftermath, Canonical Character Death, Character Death Fix, Continuation, F/M, Fix-It, POV Male Character, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eltuine/pseuds/Eltuine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thane Krios is ready to die when he is swept up in the whirlwind of Shepard's fight against the Reaper invasion. The more time he spends with Shepard, however, the more he finds himself attracted to her. When the whole galaxy is changed and Thane is given another chance, his only concern is bringing back the woman he loves.</p>
<p>Follows the events of ME2 and ME3, then continues post-game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... I started posting this story on fanfiction.net. A year later, I've been cleaning it up, and writing more, and so here it is! I hated the way that Thane's story ended in Mass effect 3, and wasn't terribly thrilled with the end of the game either, so I decided to fix it myself!
> 
> I've left in absolutely everything that's canon, even a tiny bit of dialogue, but the story, and especially all of the aftermath of ME3, is mine alone. I obviously don't own Mass Effect or any of the characters therein. Hope you enjoy!

Breathe.

He closed both sets of eyelids for a brief moment, calming himself, preparing for what lay ahead; his final mission. He was ready to die.

He ran through the same checks that he had done dozens of times before. He didn't need to think about it, it was all automatic. _Sniper rifle loaded, ammo full, barrel unobstructed, backup SMG ready, harness secure._ His target wasn't going to see another sunrise. Ready, he folded his hands, bowing his head for a moment,

"Amonkira, lord of hunters," he began, voice barely above a whisper, "Grant that my hand be steady, my aim be true, and my feet swift. And should I be successful, grant me forgiveness." It was a prayer that he had repeated many times before, each remembered with the perfect clarity that only his species could have. He appealed to one of the old Gods of his people, one whom many had abandoned, but who held special meaning to a killer such as himself. He did not pray because he was afraid he would not succeed; he had been trained for this one purpose since he was six years old, killing since six years after that. He prayed because he needed to: no matter that the woman he was to kill was a killer herself, no matter that his body was simply the tool being used by another to bring about her end, he was about to take a sentient life, and so he asked for forgiveness.

His brief moment of silence ended, he looked up, and steeled himself against feeling. This, too, was part of his ritual, bringing himself from person – whole, thinking, feeling – to body – hard, unyielding, instinctual. He looked over the shipping crate behind which he had paused to ready himself. The door to the tower he was preparing to enter did not appear to be guarded, and even if it had been, no mercenary would have seen the pair of inky black eyes watching them through the dying evening light. Besides, this tower was still under construction, and so was not nearly under the same scrutiny as the one it stood beside. It should have been though. The two structures were connected, over one hundred floors up, by a bridge. It was as of yet uncovered, open to the elements and whipped by constant wind, but it was a way across nonetheless. 

His target would be in her office, in the penthouse of the completed tower, and reaching her through this second skyscraper would be significantly easier than fighting through the dozens of mercenaries she employed to guard her in the first tower. He knew that he would encounter resistance; he counted on it. That was his reason for choosing this mission, to encounter resistance, but he didn't expect to be overwhelmed by it until after his target had been eliminated.  
He stood, adjusting his holstered weapons one last time, and slipped into the shadows surrounding the building. His week-long surveillance of Dantius Towers had given him intimate knowledge of the comings and goings, and he knew he would reach the nearest air vent without trouble. 

He passed through the doors and turned left, the map clear in his mind, his route chosen after a careful look at blueprints obtained during a previous night's work. Six paces in, look up to the left, approximately 42 centimetres above his head, a ventilation panel. The magnetic screws holding it in place were already loose, not through his own work but in order to facilitate easy access by the various Salarian maintenance crews still at work on the complicated ductwork that ran throughout the tower. He removed three of the screws, turning the vent cover so it hung by the remaining corner, and pulled himself up with a strength bellied by his lithe, slim figure. If he had been concerned with covering his tracks, he would have pulled the grille back into place, fastening it with a spray of adhesive, but tonight he didn't care about not getting caught, as long as he made it to his target first.

His target… Nassana Dantius. CEO of a multi-trillion credit corporation, with a heart as black and empty as the void. She had started her rise to the top following the convenient death of her business rival several decades ago. Three years previous she had arranged for her younger sister, Dahlia, to be killed, following her sibling’s attempts to blackmail her, though it wasn't common knowledge that Dahlia, a pirate wanted for a variety of crimes, was related to Nassana at all. Those who had been unfortunate enough to be privy to that secret had also met their ends. Whatever it took to defend her reputation, Nassana did it. He was certain that he was not the first assassin to come after her, but he would obviously be the only successful one. She was paranoid, though not without reason, and kept herself constantly surrounded by a personal bodyguard made up of mercenaries from the elite Eclipse group. He knew that it was only a matter of time until his presence was detected, and he would have to start fighting his way up. Fortunately, the alarm system hadn't proven to be too difficult for him to deal with, so he had some time before things got complicated.

He liked complicated.

It wasn't that he was heartless. On the contrary, heart had been a motivator for some of the deaths that he had caused, but he had to admit that there was a high that he got from a successful job. The Hanar, the race who had trained him for this work, had given him a purpose, honed him into an instrument of death, and he was the best at what he did. They were a polite, religious, physically frail people, incapable of performing the type of task to which he was so well suited. His family had been honored to give him up to the Compact, the centuries-old agreement between his species and theirs that had saved his kind from extinction, and he did not once resent his place. His eyes took on a far-away gaze for a moment as he lapsed suddenly into the powerful memory recall unique to his race. 

_Hands, gripping the rifle, holding a breath to take the shot – synthetic target recoiling with the impact of a bullet – "This one is impressed with the Drell's progress."_

He blinked, back in reality. His first time with a real weapon. He remembered it perfectly; he remembered everything perfectly. The Drell possessed eidetic memories. He could not afford to waste time reminiscing though, he had a job to do.

Crawling forward through the air duct, the assassin felt the slight hum from fans several floors underground. One wrong turn and it was a dead drop into those spinning blades. It would be an unpleasant way to end. He focused on the path he was to take, moving forward on elbows and knees. He had gone maybe ten metres when he passed another vent and heard voices.

"There's someone in the tower! Get the Salarians out of here! I want this place locked down!" It was a radio communicator, and a second voice, this one just under the vent, quickly responded,

"Should we give them a few minutes or-" He was cut off,

"No! Get them out now! Send the mechs after them if you have to! I want them gone!"

The assassin didn't bother waiting to hear the reply. The mercenary would follow orders and turn the robotic security drones on the Salarian workers throughout the tower. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. This was his fault. Silently, he said a prayer to Arashu, goddess of motherhood and protection, asking that the Salarians make it out alive before the mechs started shooting. They were innocent in this, and their deaths would be on his conscience. Or they would have been, had he been expecting to make it out alive. He continued along and up the duct, now aware of the sounds of gunfire below.

Several minutes later he paused again, this time aware of a merc approaching the vent nearest to where he was moving.

"I think he's in the ventilation shafts!" The mercenary called out, informing a second guard if the assassin's presence, while simultaneously pulling off the vent cover, "I'm going to go take a loo-" He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence as the assassin pulled him up, neatly and efficiently breaking his neck as he did so. A quick burst from his gun took care of the second guard. Leaving the one body outside the vent where it had fallen, he pulled the first mercenary over to the nearest drop and pushed him over the edge. That's when he saw them.

The glance that he caught was so brief, there was no way that they could have spotted him, but he was nonetheless shaken. One floor down, three people had been standing, peering up into the shaft from which the mercenary's broken body had fallen. They were not Eclipse mercs. Quickly, he went over the details in his mind.

Three people. One Turian, male, two Humans, female. None of them wore a uniform from a mercenary group that he recognised. The one human had been hooded, her face obscured by shadow. The Turian was badly scarred, the right side of his face damaged. The second human wore armor with the N7 insignia on the right of the collar. She was Human Alliance, Marine Special Forces. What was she doing in Dantius Towers, and at the same time he was there? This was too much to be a coincidence. It looked like he was to have some competition. Then he paused for a moment; competition, or were they there for him? He quickly continued on up through the vent, pushing towards his goal with renewed purpose. This was no longer a simple matter of getting to Nassana Dantius to kill her – he now had to beat a team of operatives led by an elite marine, and he had no intention of not completing the job. It was time to step up his game.

Reaching the next floor, he kicked out the vent cover and vaulted down to the floor, keeping a careful watch around him for mercenaries. He held his sniper rifle in the ready position. He would rather avoid engaging in a firefight before it was necessary, but he was nothing if not prepared. Hearing voices nearby, he froze, listening,

"Oh gods, oh gods, Shelum!" came a frantic whisper, "We're going to die! We're going to die!" 

The first voice was quickly hushed by a second – Shelum, the assassin presumed, "Quiet! Are you trying to get us killed? If anyone finds us…"

The voices were coming from a storage room, not far to his right. A quick visual sweep revealed no immediate dangers, so he stepped towards the door and opened it.

Inside were two of the Salarian construction workers, huddled together, hands up to protect their faces. He regarded them for a moment, before ordering,

"Stay here. I'm locking you in. Someone will be searching this facility come morning, and you will be let out." With that, he closed the door and bypassed the locking mechanism, both sealing the Salarians in and the mercenaries out. At least two innocent lives would be spared tonight. 

He returned his focus to the task at hand, and his next destination: the elevator. It would be foolhardy to use the actual elevator car, who knew what manner of heavy weaponry might wait within, and he was only one man, but the elevator shaft did not yet have all security systems functioning, and so made for easy access to the upper floors. It was just a matter of entering the corridor at a set of doors that the elevator was not present at, and avoiding being crushed by the car if it were to pass by him. This was the reason for the harness he carried with him. While he was perfectly capable of making his way up the elevator shaft without the use of technology, should the car pass by him, he would be forced to let go of the handholds and swing to the side. The harness would enable him to do so without the chance of missing a grip and plummeting to his death. Simple, in theory. He hoped that he would not have to test it out in practice.

The first step was to ensure that the elevator would not be on the same floor as the one that he was entering from. This was simple enough; he had a small piece of material kept in an airtight vacuum container specifically for this purpose. A chemical compound developed on his homeworld of Kahje, upon first inspection it appeared to be nothing more than a hand-sized piece of plastic. For all intents and purposes, that was exactly what it was. Its beauty lay in the unique properties of the chemical it was comprised of. In a vacuum, it was solid and sturdy. Expose it to air for more than a minute and it began degrading, sublimating until it eventually disintegrated entirely. This was how he would ensure that the elevator would stay on this floor until he reached the shaft one floor up. He would have to move fast, but moving fast was what he was good at. The biggest risk lay in calling the elevator to the floor he was on. There was no guarantee that it wouldn't be full of armed mercenaries, or the commandos from downstairs. It was a risk he had to take. 

He pressed the call button and returned swiftly back around the corner from which he had come, rifle trained on the door. Several moments later, the panel turned green, and the doors slid open, revealing two Eclipse mercenaries, weapons drawn. The assassin squeezed a shot out before the pair had even registered the door opening, dropping one merc instantly. The second guard, a young Asari woman, turned to her fallen comrade, a look of shock flitting across her face before she, too, was down. The assassin moved out from his hiding spot and did a quick visual sweep. Both women were dead, two good, clean kills. He expected nothing less from himself. He had been taught from the very beginning to end suffering in his targets as quickly as possible. There had only been one violent day when he had disobeyed this rule, and he still felt shame in remembering it. He lapsed into memory recall before he could stop himself. 

_Two sets of eyes look up at him, pleading - "Please," the Batarian rasped, "Just kill me!" - "Like you killed her?" the assassin asks._

He shook his head, back in the present. That was definitely not a memory in which he wanted to get lost. Satisfied that the bodies were not blocking the elevator door, he removed the vacuum container from a pocket in the long grey coat he wore. A quick twist and there was a hiss as air rushed in. He took the Solugel cube and placed it against the edge of the door, in a place that would ensure it would hold the door open until it dissolved, and then he was off again, back to the air vent. He made his way swiftly up to the next floor, aware that he only had about three minutes before the elevator doors would close. He likely had more time, as it would not move until called to another level, but if he had made a habit of betting his life on "likely" he would not have made it to fifteen, let alone past thirty.

One level up, he hopped out from the vent cover, and was making his way to the elevator doors, when he heard the telltale swish of a door opening somewhere behind him, followed by raised voices,

"Hey! What are you Salarians doing in here?" It was a mercenary, obviously he had come across another group of the maintenance crew hiding from the gunfire. Obviously terrified, one of the Salarians started pleading,

"Please, we just want to go home! We haven't done anything! We-" He was cut off by the mercenary,

"I've heard enough. Nassana wants you out of this tower, and she doesn't care if it's dead or alive. Now, which one of you would like to go first?" The assassin had heard enough. Sprinting down the hallway, he rounded the corner just in time to see the merc standing inside the doorway, pointing his pistol downwards towards a cowering Salarian. No time to lose, the assassin pulled his rifle up and shot, pinning the mercenary in the back of the skull. Before the mercenary's comrades even realised what had happened, he broke the second one's neck, and shot the third square between the eyes as he spun to see what had happened to his friends. The assassin didn't have time to check on the Salarians, and hoped that they would have the good sense to shut the door and stay hidden. He jogged back to the elevator, and bypassed the safety lock on the doors.

Below him was the car, still stalled a floor down. It would have been much simpler to wait on the top of the elevator and ride it the whole way up, but that would be relying on the off chance that it would be going to the top of the shaft within the next several minutes, and he wasn't willing to wait that long for something that might not happen. The assassin was the best, though, quick, graceful and alert, and had carefully studied the blueprints, giving him the edge that he needed to safely traverse the inner labyrinth of corridors, ductwork and passageways of the towers.  
Hooking his harness to an electrical cable to the right of the inner doors, he swung himself into the chute, ready for the long ascent. The harness that he connected was a clever piece of technology, allowing him to move up freely, the loop that attached him to the cable would engage and lock down if he fell more than a foot. Should the need for a speedy descent arise, he could simply press a button, and he would be able to repel freely downwards. His equipment properly connected, he began to climb.

He was fast, agile, and confident in his ascent. He had not always been comfortable climbing. The world from which his people had come had been mostly arid desert and plains, and while it had been two centuries since his kind had lived there, some things were hardwired into the brain. His training had been overcoming that initial hesitation, and moving towards a place where he did not feel fear. Now, if an outsider were to look at him, it would seem to them that he was in his element, hands grasped around a cable, shimmying his way upwards. He got a rhythm going, and soon he was making excellent progress. It would not be long before he could leave the chute and head for the bridge, his target, and, ultimately, his death. It brought him a sense of peace, knowing that it would be over soon.

He was tired. Tired of living, tired of killing, tired of being unable to atone for the things he had done. He could not afford to allow his mind to wander completely, but he couldn't help from slipping into another memory. 

_Her seaweed wrapped body, lowering slowly into the sea, taking his heart with her – a small boy looking up at him with tears in his eyes – the taste of ocean and bile in his mouth._

His reverie was halted abruptly by a shuddering noise and a rumbling in the cable he held – the elevator! His first instinct was to swing over to the side, avoiding the car and letting it pass by him, but something made him reconsider. The three commandos downstairs, heading to the same place he was, racing him towards Nassana. In a snap decision he decided to take a risk. Using lightning-fast reflexes, he unclipped the harness from around the cable, and pushed himself out from the wall, landing deftly on the top of the elevator car with knees bent to absorb both impact and sound. He crouched in place as he rose up several floors, then came to a halt.  
He could hear several people entering the elevator, then the rumble of a deeply bass voice,

"D'you really think they'll be stupid enough to use the elevator?" It was a Krogan, one of the massive species of warriors, built like tanks and bred for war. His query was answered by a female voice,

"We have the stairs blocked off. The only other way up is through a maze of air ducts. They're either going to run into our forces at the north and south stairwells, or they'll run into us. Be ready." The assassin recognised the cockiness in the woman's voice; she was an Asari commando, one of an elite team of biotic specialists who trained in the use of the innate, telekinesis-like abilities that many species possessed. He himself had some of these talents, and they could be very useful in combat. The marine-led team on lower level was going to face some very difficult opponents if they chose the elevator. It was the logical choice, though, and the one he would have chosen had he not known his way through the ductwork. Going up staircases blockaded with guards would be foolish. The elevator only had so much space, and so could only hold so many opponents before it got to the point where there was no manoeuverability. If the trio downstairs was smart, and he had no doubt that they were, they would take the elevator, and he would be getting a free ride to one of the topmost floors. 

He resumed listening again when they came to a stop. Sure enough, the moment the doors slid open, there were shots being fired. He heard the distinctive whistle and explosion of a flashbang grenade, and a Krogan yelling "Charge!" followed by more gunfire. A Turian voice called out "One down!" The assassin wondered if it was the Krogan who had fallen. This marine-led trio was good. Krogan were excellent shock troopers, unafraid to charge at their enemy, and able to heal from wounds much quicker than other species, almost instantaneously at times. That this group was holding their own against a force that contained at least one Krogan, an Asari commando, and two others, judging by the sounds of things, was impressive. Even more impressive was the speed with which the rest of the elevator's ambush team was dispatched. Before he could even begin to wonder how each side was faring, the shooting stopped. He heard three pairs of feel walk onto the elevator, and a woman's voice saying,

"Now let's get up to that bridge."

The marines had won, and the race was back on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The race to Nassana continues, and Thane learns more about his competitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: some of the dialogue is from the game, because I'm a stickler for canon. I can't help it! The story is mine, however, and I hope you like this next installment.

It was actually exhilarating, being on top of an elevator as it hurtled upwards towards its destination. This was definitely faster than climbing. The high-speed car was made with the intention of preventing long wait times, so it did not take long before they were several floors from the top, and began to slow. He prepared himself to simultaneously open the emergency hatch and pull himself up out of the elevator's path, but found his preparations unnecessary. The team in the elevator had stopped one floor below the uppermost, a smart move, as that floor was less likely to present the same resistance at the elevator doors as the top. It was then a simple matter for him of climbing up one floor, and opening the hatch onto the roof. He stepped out from the hole and pushed the hatch closed again. The small maintenance room on the roof offered him a place to collect his thoughts and prepare himself before moving forward. The marine would be taking the bridge across. She would have to fight through the uppermost floor first, and then whatever guards were on the bridge itself. He, however, would have a head start on her, and the brunt of Nassana's forces would be distracted by the more obvious firefight on the bridge. There would probably be little to no resistance on the roof, and the top of the bridge covering, while windy, would not have the same defensive capabilities as the actual bridge underneath. 

He removed his sniper rifle from the holster on his back. The sub-machine gun might have made things easier should he encounter a larger force than expected on the rooftop, but the rifle was silenced, and he was going for stealth. If he was lucky, the security forces wouldn't know that he and the marine team weren't one entity, and they would focus their attention on the bridge itself.

He opened the door cautiously, peering out into the dim evening light. His eyes were excellently adapted to seeing in the dark, green irises and black sclera catching as much light as the evening could provide. There were three mercenaries on the roof that he could see. None of them were paying close attention to the door that he emerged from, so he slipped out noiselessly into the cool air. 

The guard closest to him was down before he could turn his head, a swift jerk breaking his neck. The other two turned to react. One was met with a sharp jab to the windpipe. The last of the three put up the most fight. The assassin grappled with her for a moment, but in the end he had the upper hand, and her neck was broken, just like the first. He now had the whole roof to himself, so he took the moment to set up his rifle to shoot, peering through the scope to the other roof. There were two guards there, both oblivious to his presence in the dim light on the other roof. He squeezed the trigger once, twice, and they were down. Killing was an art, and he was an artist.

It was easy to make his way along the bridge cover. The wind was powerful, gusts buffeting him with a force that might have put another in danger of falling, but he was not only agile; he was also strong. Keeping his centre of gravity low, he hurried across the open expanse, and vaulted lightly onto the roof of the other tower. There was no remaining resistance on this roof, and he was feeling more confident about reaching Nassana first. N7 operatives weren't the type to go blazing through a building and then sneak through the final floors. They would be fighting their way over the bridge soon enough. He, however, had just discovered a stroke of good luck.  
The two guards he had dispatched from the opposite roof had left the stairwell door unlocked. 

He slipped inside and made his way noiselessly toward the air duct opening. This would lead to his final destination. He paused for a moment, blinking in surprise as he realized; he was not going to die tonight. What he had hoped would be his final mission, a way to avoid his fate, was going much differently than expected. The marine operatives had dispatched so many of Nassana's mercenaries that he would be facing very little opposition in his escape. It would be interesting to see the outcome of this race, and to meet his opponents. He pushed the thoughts aside for the moment, focusing on the task at hand. He could hear gunfire coming from the bridge. A smile played at the corner of his lips; he found himself looking forward to meeting these marine operatives, discovering their story. He doubted that they were here just for a corrupt businesswoman.

-x-X-x-

Shimmying through the ductwork, the assassin calmed his breathing and prepared for what lay ahead. He had already prayed to his gods for forgiveness and luck, so this centering breath only took a moment before he continued forward. Another three turns and he was above Nassana's office. He paused for a moment, listening, and heard voices below. It was the marines! He was surprised, they had made quick work of the mercenaries on the bridge, and had managed to reach Nassana just as he had. They were good.

He listened, curious as to what they were saying. It seemed that Nassana was acquainted with the leader of the operatives. Then the marine said something that confirmed what the assassin had been wondering about,

"I'm not an assassin Nassana, but I am looking for one." So they were looking for him, as he'd begun to suspect. To kill him? So be it, he thought. That had been the original purpose of this mission anyway. What did it matter who did the killing? Then Nassana said a name that he recognized; Shepard. _The_ Shepard? The woman who had saved the citadel not three years previously? He had been right, this would be very interesting. He shifted his weight, readying himself to drop down into the office below.

The guards were jumpy, twitching at every little noise, and Nassana was just as anxious. She sent two of the mercenaries to check the other entrances, leaving herself with only three mercenaries for protection. This was the perfect time for him to strike. He dropped down noiselessly behind the first mercenary, bringing his hands up to grasp the man on either side of his head. A strong, sharp twist, and the man went down. The next guard attempted to grab him, but he already had his fist in the man's sternum, dropping him to the floor. The final mercenary, a young Asari woman, was shot in the chest, point blank. Nassana barely had time to react, turning around to demand answers that he had no intention of giving. His gun was already at her stomach, his finger already pulling the trigger. He fired, and she fell forward, towards him. He gently laid her back against the desk, folding her hands over her chest, and bowed his head. His job was done. He had taken another life, and now he would see what it was that the commandos wanted from him. He folded his hands, silently asking that her soul be taken to the sea, that she could find peace in death that she had not found in life, and then he began his usual prayer. The woman, Shepard, stepped forward.

"I was hoping to talk to you," she said. He remained silent for another moment, then spoke,

"I apologize, but prayers for the wicked must never be forsaken." He looked up, and at the woman who had provided him with such a convenient distraction. The first thing that came to mind when he looked at her was fire. Her hair was the color of flame, cut just below her jaw and tucked behind her ears. He had always been interested by hair. His species did not grow it, nor did any of the other races in Citadel space (save, perhaps, the Quarians, but even he was not privy to what was concealed by their envirosuits).. Hair was unique to humans, and it was interesting to see the differences in how they wore it. He was surprised at how young she was. Considering how she had saved an entire space station and the seat of galactic political power with a team of only six other people, he had pictured someone older, more experienced. She was a young woman still. Her eyes were fierce, determined. She looked like an avenging angel, come to rain down judgment upon the wicked. He was tempted to smile, but fought the impulse. He still didn't know why she had come to find him.

"She certainly was wicked," Shepard said. He shook his head slightly,

"Not for her. For me," he explained. He was a killer, and was wicked, regardless of whose hand bade him to do the killing. "The measure of an individual can be difficult to discern by actions alone.," He continued, "Take you for instance. All this destruction, chaos. I was curious to see how far you'd go to find me," He paused, presenting himself to her, "Well, here I am." His voice was low, quiet. Hers was far more commanding,

"How'd you know I was coming at all?" She asked. She looked perplexed, and slightly concerned, as though she was nervous that he might have some skill in mind reading or precognition. He explained himself,

"I didn't, not until you marched in the front door and started shooting. Nassana had become paranoid. You saw the strength of her guard force. She believed one of her sisters would kill her. You were a valuable distraction." He felt no shame in admitting this; it was the truth. She seemed unperturbed, and simply continued with what she had to say.

"Let's cut to the chase. I need you for a mission." That he had started to suspect, so he was not surprised. He was, however, intrigued, and so prompted her to continue,

"Indeed." He could not tell if she was frustrated by his taciturn response, but if she was, she hid it well, and merely asked,

"You're familiar with the collectors?" That was interesting. He was, though not by personal contact. They were a heartless, mysterious race, appearing in Citadel space rarely, and then only to acquire unique "specimens" of sentient species. He did not like the sound of them.

"By reputation," he said, still reserved. He still hadn't received any real explanation.

"They're abducting entire human colonies," Shepard explained, "Freedom's Progress was their handiwork." Now that was troubling. He had heard about Freedom's Progress. An entire human colony, emptied of all inhabitants without so much as a struggle. They had all simply vanished. If this was the work of the Collectors, then he feared for the fate of the missing humans. He did not voice this, though, wanting to find out what Shepard had to do with any of this. Instead, he simply said,

"I see." The Turian behind Shepard looked frustrated, impatient. Turians were not usually ones for talking, preferring action instead. The assassin, however, was infinitely patient. It was an essential skill. He listened instead, waiting to hear what she would say. She did not disappoint.

"We're going after them." Now he was truly interested, beyond mere personal curiosity. No one had ever been to the Collector homeworld, or at least, none who had survived. How would this be any different? He voiced his thoughts,

"Attacking the Collectors would require passing through the Omega 4 relay. No ship has ever returned from doing so." The mass relays allowed travel throughout the galaxy, mass effect generators that created corridors of mass-free space. Some were inactive out of fear of encountering a hostile species. The Omega 4 relay, however, was active, but only the Collectors could safely pass through it. Shepard appeared to have a plan, but he was unsure as to whether or not she was bluffing. She was very confident when she stated,

"My ship will be the first." The assassin did not need to think long about his decision, but clarified, making sure that this young woman knew what she was asking of him.

"You'd like me to protect humans I've never met from aliens no one knows anything about by going to a place no one's ever returned from." It was not a question. She responded,

"That's the gist of it." He appreciated her frankness. Seeing how he had not met his end on this mission, he would he happy to help protect innocents from the horrible machinations of the Collectors. The fact that he would most likely not survive was simply that, a fact, neither negative nor positive. He owed Shepard some sort of explanation, though, if he was to be working for her.  
"This was to be my last job. I'm dying…" he paused, mulling over his own fate for a moment before continuing, "Low survival odds don't concern me. The abduction of your colonists does." Shepard did not seem to know what to say. At first he thought that it was a reaction to his confession of impending death, but when she spoke he realised that it stemmed instead from dealing with the very speciesist attitudes of so many members of most races,

"Not to look a gift assassin in the mouth, but why are human colonists a concern to you?" The idiom threw him for a moment, and he made a mental note to look it up on the extranet later, and he thought for a moment of how best to explain himself, to explain why he was willing to risk his life for people whom he had never met.

"They are innocent yes?" he asked, rhetorically, "Like all victims of the collectors. The universe is a dark place. I'm trying to make it brighter before I die. Many innocents died today. I wasn't fast enough and they suffered. I must atone for that." The innocent Salarian workers who he had been unable to help weighed on his mind, "I will work for you Shepard, no charge." She stepped forward, hand extended in a human gesture of greeting, friendship and contract. He extended his own, slightly different hand, his middle and ring fingers fused together like all other members of his species, and took hers in his own as she said,

"I look forward to working with you, Thane."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newest member of thee Normandy's crew finds his place, and something else besides.

The shuttle ride to Shepard's ship was relatively uneventful. Thane took the time to introduce himself to the two people accompanying the commander. He held his hand out to the other human woman, the one with the hood shading her eyes. She had a small, lithe frame and was very lively, in a mischievous sort of way.

"Thane Krios," he said by way of introduction. She clasped his hand in hers,

"Kasumi Goto. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Krios. Your reputation precedes you." His brow rose. He knew of Kasumi by reputation. She was a master thief, possibly the best in the galaxy. Not many knew her name, even fewer knew her face. It was only through his own contacts that he had discovered any information about her at all. If the rest of Shepard's team had credentials like his own and Ms. Goto's, they might just stand a chance. He turned to the Turian, who inclined his head in acknowledgement, preferring not to have a physical greeting like the humans' handshake.

"Garrus Vakarian," He said, echoing Thane's short introduction, "I hope you're as good as they say you are." Thane smiled,

"I'm better," he replied, then paused for a moment. He knew that name. His memory was useful for times like these, and he instantly was able to recall where he had heard it before. 

_"Who took them out?" He asked, trying to discern what had happened to his targets, a group of mercenary thugs who had mugged his employer's daughter. His contact had nothing more than three words for an answer, "Garrus Vakarian, Archangel."_

So this was Archangel, the vigilante who had been cleaning up on Omega station, the underbelly of galactic civilization. "Archangel. I should thank you. You took care of some targets of mine, made my job much easier." 

If Garrus was surprised that Thane knew who he was, he didn't show it, inclining his head and saying only, "My pleasure." The Turian had a confident air about him, the scars on his face adding to his rugged appearance. The plate-like scales on his head swept back into a long fringe, and he had probably been quite handsome, by Turian terms, before whatever had caused the injury to his face. Thane knew that he had been a member of Citadel Security, the station's police force, before joining with Shepard during the mission that had made her famous. Judging by his actions on Omega, however, he was more interested with justice than the law, which suited Thane just fine, considering his own line of work. 

He turned his attention to Commander Shepard. She was sitting quietly on the edge of the bench, staring out the window in a way that told Thane she wasn't really seeing whatever she was looking at. It was a look he wore all too often, though for him it was far easier to get lost in memory. He considered saying something to break her reverie, but thought better of it and turned to look out the opposite window. Sometimes people needed silence, a fact that he understood better than most. Besides, it wasn't five more minutes before they were landing at a docking area, and he got his first glimpse of the ship that Shepard claimed would be the first to make it through the Omega 4 relay.

The Normandy was a beautiful piece of machinery, from both a technical and aesthetic point of view. The long, thin, slightly bowed body that swept back towards wide tail-wings hinted at great speed, and there was no missing the massive cannon mounted on the belly of the ship. This ship would be a tough opponent in a fight. Thane only hoped that it would be enough to take on the Collectors, who were known for their advanced technology, which they often used as currency in their trades for "specimens". He set about acquainting himself with the crew, and getting to know the ins and outs of life on the Normandy.

-x-X-x-

The crew that Shepard had collected thus far was a rather eclectic mix of species, especially considering the organization providing the funding for this mission: Cerberus. Known throughout the galaxy as a human-centric institution, Cerberus had been associated with a variety of unsavory, unethical, and downright terrorist-like activities.

Thane had seen firsthand some of the atrocities committed by Cerberus in the past in the name of furthering the cause of humanity. They had infected their own people with a parasite found on the human homeworld. In nature it infected ants, causing them to climb to the tops of blades of grass in order to be eaten by large mammals, in whose stomachs the parasite could mature. Cerberus had genetically engineered the parasite in an attempt to control the minds of their subjects. What they ended up with instead were gibbering idiots, incapable of performing anything but the simplest of tasks. Thane had discovered them during a mission to assassinate a scientist performing experiments on missing Hanar. They were being used as slave labor, and most had been executed by Cerberus guards before Thane had been unable to save them; more deaths on his conscience. The three who had survived had been dropped off at a hospital. The last that he had heard, they were not showing any signs of recovery. He had of course been concerned when he discovered who this mission was being funded by, but conversation with the other members of Shepard's team allayed his fears. This was Shepard's mission, not Cerberus's, and she didn't like their methods any more than he did.

Shepard was a fierce young woman, as he had gathered upon first encountering her. Anyone who stood in her way had to be crazy or suicidal, but she had a softer side as well. Not long after joining Shepard, Thane was selected for a mission to help Miranda, the Cerberus operative and XO, keep her sister out of the hands of her megalomaniacal father. Shepard had stopped Miranda from firing on her friend, who had betrayed her, and had comforted her afterwards when the young man, Niket, had ended up dead regardless. Then, in a move that had Thane rather confused initially, she had stopped just before leaving the cargo port they had been fighting through, and picked up a small necklace that had been left on a crate by the door.

Thane hadn't understood it at first. It wasn't a particularly valuable piece of jewelry, and Shepard had never worn any adornments that he could see, so he could see no reason for taking that small, insignificant piece of metal from its resting place. Her reason quickly became obvious when they had been passing through to where the Normandy was docked. Shepard had stopped by a distraught Asari woman, and handed her the necklace. It contained a photo of the human man the Asari had been mated to before his death, and was the woman's only memento of her husband to give to her daughter. This had touched Thane. Shepard was a warrior, yes, but she was also _good,_ and not only in the sense of being good at what she did. She was a good person, and the more that Thane watched her, the more that he could see that.

Over his time aboard the Normandy, and on missions with Shepard, he watched as she saved a brainwashed Krogan scout by giving him the motivation to not give in to death, convinced an angry Asari to release a group of human colonists from a contract forcing them to undergo medical testing, and proven a young Quarian woman innocent after she had been accused of pickpocketing an angry Volus. Throughout all of this, Shepard had kept her cool, acting with tact and diplomacy, only letting her ferocious side through for a moment when, after proving the Quarian innocent, the Volus had said she "could have" stolen it, and the Citadel Security officer who had been questioning the pair threatened to run the Quarian in for vagrancy. Shepard had been fierce in her denouncement of the two men, calling them out for their racism and classism, a judgement that Thane silently agreed with. She had been like an avenging angel, swooping down in defense of the defenseless, and Thane began to find himself fascinated by her, watching her not just when they were on missions together, but when she went about her business on the Normandy.

In the Mess, she joked and bantered with the crew members, slipping easily into the social aspects of ship life that Thane, a much more solitary, pensive creature, had never quite mastered. She was such a strong person that a less observant individual might have missed it, but there was a vulnerable side to Shepard as well, and Thane felt himself becoming more and more drawn to this woman. She reminded him of something that he'd had, and lost, and she had awoken him. When they first met, he had been asleep, moving through life without feeling or caring, waiting for his death. Now, he felt truly alive again. Speaking to her about his past had been difficult.

During one of their conversations, Thane had asked for Shepard's help with a personal matter. He had explained about his wife, Irikah, his son, Kolyat, his failure to protect them, and how that had resulted in Irikah's death. Shepard had been kind, and helped him to prevent his son from traveling down the same path that his father had taken, even using her rapport with Citadel security to prevent Kolyat from being sent to prison for his attempt at assassination.

The last time they had spoken, Thane had called her a friend, and she had replied that friendship "was a start". He had felt his heart flutter at those words, and had called her by the name he had been thinking of her by for the past month, "Siha". Her reaction had been one of curiosity and puzzlement, and Thane found himself replaying the bewildered look on her face more than once, finding it very endearing. She was perfect, and he intended to tell her how he felt.

The opportunity came sooner than Thane had expected. She came to speak with him in his usual haunt down in Life Support, and told him she had been thinking about him. A smile came unbidden to his face as he confessed that he had been thinking of her as well, and began to explain to her what Siha meant. As he told her of his resignation to death during the Dantius mission, a small frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. Then he explained what had changed,

"But someone else was pushing to reach the target, forcing me to move faster, challenging me. I had to reach her first." He could see the faintest hint of surprise and disbelief cross Shepard's face.

"You're alive because I wounded your pride?" He chuckled to himself, inwardly, at her unimpressed tone and explained that pride is the difference between a professional and a thug, and then explained what Siha meant.

"One of the warrior angels of the goddess Arashu, fierce in wrath, a tenacious protector." He decided that it was now or never. He had to tell her how he felt, if only to face the rejection. "I confess," he began, "I've… come to care for you. Perhaps I'm being foolish, we are very different…" He trailed off, and sat for what felt like the longest second of his life, before she spoke,

"I'm not sure we know each other well enough to call it love," his heartbeat picked up. This did not sound like rejection, and she reached her hands across the table to hold his. She continued, "But I feel something for you too. Something more than friendship." 

He was paralysed by a strange mix of emotion; happiness at her shared affection, apprehension about drawing another woman into the life he led, fear for what the future would bring. Her hands were so soft against his own, an interested contrast against his scales. He realised that he had no idea how to proceed, having never been involved anyone who was not Drell. He voiced his concern,

"I've never felt affection for another species. I-I'm not sure what to do now." His voice wavered and he cringed, mentally, at this show of weakness. Shepard was not the woman he was falling in love with without reason, however, and she simply smiled at his hesitation, and replied,

"We'll just have to figure it out." A smile broke on his face, genuine and slightly shy, and he said,

"I look forward to the memories." An answering smile stretched across the commander's features, and Thane tucked the memory away for the future, knowing that he would be able to watch that slow, feminine grin over and over again. While perfect memory could have its drawbacks, making it difficult to get over a lost loved one or past wrong, it was times like this that he was glad to be able to recall in perfect clarity, because they were often over all too soon.  
As if reading his mind, Shepard withdrew her hands from his,

"I should go," she said, "I haven't slept in about eighteen hours. The Collectors won't need to shoot me. I'll fall asleep on some pirate freighter and they'll just chuck me out an airlock." Thane chuckled, knowing that would never happen, and nodded to her,

"Pleasant dreams, Siha," he said.

"You too," she replied, and left the way she had come. He smiled to himself again – he was doing a lot more of that recently – and leaned back against his hands laced behind his head,  
"Of that, I have no doubt," he said, to no one in particular.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frustration, fear, and a scolding by Jack.

Her smaller, softer body pushed against his own, her hands running up and down over the horizontal stripes on his back.

"Thane…" she whispered, her voice full of longing. The sound shot straight to his groin, and he groaned, trailing kisses up her neck. "Thane," she said again, more forcefully. He pulled at her shirt, untucking it from her pants, eager to feel all of her, to revel in the way her human anatomy was so different and yet similar to his own kind.

"THANE!" He awoke abruptly, sleep being violently pushed aside by the voice coming through the comm. He shook his head, and answered, still groggy from being woken so suddenly,

"Yes, I'm here," he was lying on his bed. He pressed his palm to his face. These dreams were going to drive him insane. Every night for the past four, he had dreamt of Shepard. Every night, the dream would start off the same. They would kiss, lightly at first, but she would push it to something more, responding to the need building within him. She would know exactly how to touch him, how to move, to drive him over the edge with desire, and he would be about to remove her clothing when something would wake him up. This time it was the comm. The night previous, it was Garrus coming to ask about rifle calibrations, and the two nights before that he had simply woken without reason. His nerves were starting to fray as the sexual frustration built within him, but, ever the consummate professional, he pushed his body's needs down, and focused on the mission. It was Jack on the other end of the comm, this time.

Jack was an angry young woman, who had every right to be, as she put it, "royally pissed off," after having been kidnapped by Cerberus as a child and experimented upon in an effort to increase her biotic ability. Obviously the experiments had been technically successful, as Thane had never met a human as skilled in biotics before, but her mental and emotional state had suffered greatly for it.

"Took you long enough! God. Were you sleeping, or dead?" she asked. Thane sighed. Jack had less tact than some Krogan he had met, and an equal passion for unbridled violence.

"Apologies," he said, "I have been a heavy sleeper as of late." Though not heavy enough, he thought bitterly.

"Great, like I give a shit about your sleep patterns," came Jack's answer, "Shepard found something while scanning some planet for palladium or whatever. We're going to check it out. She's grabbing her equipment, and put me in charge of wakey wakey. Be in the shuttle bay in five."

"Affirmative," Thane said, disconnecting the comm and turning to put his feet on the ground. It was not unusual to be woken up for some sort of mission or response to a distress signal. There was a regular duty roster that was fairly consistently adhered to, barring the need for a specific skill set for certain circumstances, but Shepard wasn’t one to turn away from someone in need. It was for this reason that Thane had only intended on napping for a short while, and had stayed in his clothing. He rubbed his hands over his face again, attempting both to wake himself up and remove the lingering dream from his mind. Unfortunately, his mind had other ideas, and he couldn't stop the memory from coming.

_Her hands, soft and smooth against his rougher scales, run back along the ridges above his ear canals, teasing him. He kisses her jaw, breathing in the warm, slightly sweet smell of her skin, and moves his hands around her shoulders._

_"Touch me, Thane," she breathes, licking the sensitive flesh on his neck, eliciting a moan from him as his hips press into hers._

Yes, these dreams definitely had to stop. He sighed and pulled on his boots, ignoring how his pants felt a bit tighter than usual, and grabbed his guns. Heading to the elevator to the shuttle bay, he ran into Shepard, also on her way down.

"Hey Thane," she said, stepping aside so that they both had equal space in the car, "Catching up on some sleep?" He smiled at her. She was so nonchalant, especially for someone dressed in armor, carrying an assault rifle, and with a rocket launcher strapped to her back.

"I was," he replied, "Though I had not intended to be asleep for long. I believe that Jack was not impressed with my delayed response to her… how did she put it, 'wakey wakey'? She is an odd young woman." Shepard smiled, a small chuckle sounding in her chest, making Thane want to kiss her.

"You can say that again," Shepard said, "Though I'll confess, she picked up that particular term from me. That's what they used to call wake up time back in my academy days. One lieutenant in charge of our training took particular pleasure in waking us up for 05:00 by playing Krogan battle song recordings. You ever hear a Krogan sing, Thane?"

"I confess, I have not," he answered.

"It's not something I'd recommend waking up to. Sort of like when they yell, but with more of them, in unison, trying to yell in tune." Thane grimaced, and Shepard chuckled again, "Exactly."

"I should play you some Hanar music sometime, Siha," he said, "It is far more… polite." She looked shocked for a moment, then broke into a smile and pushed playfully at his arm,

"Was that a joke, Thane?" He said nothing, but faced forward, a smile playing across his lips, and betraying the humor in his attitude. He liked speaking with Shepard like this, relaxed, happy. He would have to find more opportunities to do so.

Before he could begin to formulate a plan for how to create more occasions for banter, they arrived at the lower level of the ship. Jack was there, pacing and raring to go, wearing her usual cargo pants and the three leather straps over her chest that apparently passed for a "shirt". Drell had little compunction when it came to nakedness - Hanar did not wear anything - or fashion trends – they didn't judge others by what they wore – and so Thane had not previously noted Jack's particular brand of style. This time, however, he found himself looking at her out of the corner of his eye as they boarded the shuttle, particularly at her chest.

Drell women did not have breasts. Drell were born able to consume solid food, or ground up versions thereof, and so nipples and mammary glands were a foreign concept to him. He had never really given them a second thought before, but now that his dreams were full of Shepard, and the drive to get her naked and on top of him, he found himself more curious. What would they feel like? What did they look like uncovered? Would Shepard's resemble Jack's? What was he expected to do to them, if anything? Fortunately for him, he was stealthy enough in his puzzlement that Jack did not catch him staring, or he suspected that he would be walking with a limp for several days thereafter. He made a mental note to look this up on the extranet. Hopefully he'd be able to find useful information, and not just pornography.

His musings were cut short by the shuttle's takeoff, and Shepard began to explain what they were going down to the surface for. It seemed some mercenaries had taken over an archaeological dig site. They were going to go investigate and, hopefully, save any scientists who were left. He spent the rest of the ride down in silence, listening to Jack telling Shepard about a time she'd been on a pirate ship, and had killed half of the crew when she found out that they had been planning to turn her in to Cerberus. It was mildly disturbing, the glee Jack took in describing how one young man had screamed while she threw him into the ship's reactor core, but he chose not to comment. It wasn't too long before they were at the landing zone, and there was no more time for talk.

-x-X-x-

Sure enough, mercenaries had invaded the dig site they landed at, no doubt looking for something worth a hefty sum that they could steal and make a profit with, not caring about the lives that they took in the process. Moments after exiting the shuttle, a human in full Blue Suns uniform emerged from the mine shaft that led down into the caverns where the artifact had been found, and all hell broke loose. The merc radioed back to his associates in the caves, and mercenaries started pouring out from the door.

"Get down!" came Shepard's voice over the radio. Thane was already behind an outcropping of rock, and Jack dove behind a shipping crate.

"I'll rip you apart!" came Jack's yell, and a shockwave tore through the mercenary forces. Thane popped his head around the rock and shot one merc square in the forehead with his rifle before blasting another with a warp field. Shepard was, of course, also holding up her own side of the battle. A mercenary lieutenant had his barrier taken down by her biotics just before Thane delivered a shot to his chest, sending him reeling backwards. Jack took down another merc with a well-timed warp field, and Thane used his submachine gun to bring down a fourth. With only two opponents left, Shepard brought out her most devastating ability, a biotic charge that brought her up close and personal to the enemy, hurtling them backwards and bringing her in for a kill with her shotgun. The first time Thane had seen her do this, he had almost cried out to their other teammate that she was in trouble, but he had quickly learned that it was whoever Shepard was coming up against that was in trouble when this happened. It still took his breath away, though, whenever she charged headlong into enemy ranks. This time was no different. Shepard blazed forward with lightning speed and knocked the man back, then brought up her shotgun and hit him with incendiary rounds. Thane lined up his own shot and took out the last mercenary, and then stepped out from behind the rock.

"Woo! Yeah, take that you slimy bastards!" Jack yelled, punching the air with her fist. Shepard grinned at Thane, and he gave her a small smile back. It wasn't over yet, though.

"Okay Jack, that's enough yelling," Shepard said, "Let's get down into those caves and see what these mercs were so intent on keeping for themselves." She turned back to the door the mercenaries had emerged from. Jack stuck her middle finger up at the commander's back; a gesture Thane had learned meant "fuck you", presumably for spoiling her celebration. Thane wasn't worried, however. Jack might not respect authority, but she respected Shepard. She may gripe about being ordered around, but he knew that every member of the crew had Shepard's back. He shook his head at Jack, who turned the gesture on him, then headed after the commander.

The caves were filled with more mercenaries, and the trio started taking them out with their combined biotics and firepower. The first room they fought through easily, and into the second. Once again, Shepard threw herself into the brunt of the fighting, charging at an unshielded mercenary with her shotgun in hand, but this time something else happened. The mercenary who she hit went flying backwards, hitting a large canister filled with fuel. Before Thane could call out a warning, she fired at the downed man, and the pressurized canister exploded, sending Shepard stumbling backwards and taking down her shields. Suddenly exposed to enemy gunfire, she dove behind the nearest pile of rocks, right next to where another mercenary had taken cover. Thane could see the entire situation unfolding, helpless from his position, pinned down by a mercenary with an assault rifle. It seemed to be happening in slow motion; Shepard's look of chagrin and anger at having dove into cover right next to an enemy, the mercenary's surprise and shock at her sudden appearance.

"Cover me!" Thane shouted at Jack, who turned with lightning fast reflexes and sent a shockwave hurtling at the mercenary who had pinned him down. He rocketed out of where he was crouched, ignoring the screaming of his lungs as he pushed himself to move faster. He reached an open line of fire just as the mercenary was raising his pistol to point at the commander's forehead. Shepard was desperately reloading her own gun. Thane had his own rifle out as he ran, aiming at the man's head. He was about to fire when BLAM, a gun went off. Shepard had reloaded before the merc had even aimed, and now the man lay on the floor of the cavern, his head blown off by the powerful shotgun round. Thane was stunned and relieved at the same time, but quickly ducked back down behind another outcropping before the last two mercs turned their guns on him. What the hell had he been thinking? What would he have done, dive in front of the bullets? He cursed himself for being so stupid while simultaneously shooting the last mercenary through the back of his head while the young man squatted in what he must have believed to be a covered position. They all stepped out from cover.

"What the hell was that, Thane?" Jack yelled at him, "And Shepard, you idiot! Check your cover before you dive right in! You're both fucking idiots! What am I supposed to be here, a babysitter?" Thane cringed. She was right, he had been massively stupid.

"Calm down, Jack," Shepard said, "I'm fine, Thane's fine, we're all fine." Thane inclined his head.

"I wish to apologize. I did not think," He said. Shepard turned and gave him a wry smile,

"That makes two of us."

"Gah!" Jack threw her hands up and stormed off towards the interior cavern, "You people make me sick!" Shepard smiled and shook her head, then turned back to Thane.

"What were you going to do, jump on him?" she asked. Thane returned her sardonic grin with an embarrassed smile of his own,

"Perhaps. I… wasn't really thinking beyond the moment. That was foolish of me, Siha. I'm sorry. I should have been faster with my rifle, you wouldn't have-" Shepard cut him off, holding her finger to his lips to silence him,

"I shouldn't have shot an explosive container right in front of my own face. No playing hero, okay? I can take care of myself." She wasn't angry, as far as he could tell. She seemed to be amused, even, though he was unsure as to why. He decided not to question it, instead leaning forward ever so slightly, and kissing the tip of her finger lightly where it hovered in front of his lips. Her eyes widened in shock, then the corners of her mouth turned up and she shook her head. "You're too distracting for your own good," she said, "Come on, let's go and find Jack before she terrifies the next group of mercs to death and doesn't leave any for us." She stopped briefly and picked up a PDA, reading it for a moment, then saying "Looks like we found out where the Blue Suns came from. Some poor ship's out there thinking they've hired a mercenary group for protection, while what they've really done is sign their own death warrants. We'll check out this ‘MSV Strontium Mule’ once we're done here." Thane nodded his assent, and then Shepard gestured for him to take point.

They jogged together into the inner cavern, and found Jack standing in front of a Prothean pyramid. It was a breathtaking piece of history, and remarkably well preserved considering its age. Thane had always appreciated the clean lines in Prothean design, and this was no exception. In front of the pyramid was a console with the most important part of the archaeological find, a Prothean video log. Jack was pressing buttons on the console to decode the static, but so far without luck.

"Here, let me try," Shepard said, and stepped up to the structure, her Omni-tool ready. The moment she waved the interface over the video log, her body went rigid.

"What the hell!" Jack exclaimed, grabbing the commander's arm and shaking it in a futile attempt to rouse her. Shepard's eyes were moving rapidly back and forth, as if seeing things that were not there. Thane held out a hand to stop Jack.

"I believe she is having a vision," he said, "like the one given to her by the Prothean beacon back on Eden Prime." Jack shrugged, as if she couldn't care less, most likely to cover up her frightened reaction to the commander's sudden catatonia.

"I hope it's a fast vision," she said. Just as she finished rolling her eyes, Shepard snapped out of whatever had a hold on her, pulling a hand to her forehead as though it pained her. Thane moved swiftly to her side.

"Are you alright, Siha?" he asked, "Do you need to sit for a moment?" Jack made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and started walking back the way they had come. Shepard shook her head slowly, as if trying to shake the vision from it, then spoke,

"No, I'm okay. It was the same vision that the beacon back on Eden Prime showed me, but the end was different. There was… I think I saw a Collector." Thane cocked his head,

"Interesting. Perhaps more proof that they are agents of the Reapers." Shepard shook her head,

"No, it wasn't… it looked like it was in pain…" She trailed off and was silent for a moment, then shook her head a final time and started off after Jack. "Come on, let's get back to the shuttle. We have to go find the ship that led the mercenaries here, see if there's anyone left alive on board who isn't part of the Blue Suns." Thane followed her, mulling over the evening's events. It had been different, being out with Shepard now that they had both professed their feelings for one another, and he would have to watch himself to ensure that he did not act rashly in some foolish attempt to protect her, but overall he felt… good. For the first time in a very long while, he looked forward to the future.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mordin gives Thane "The Talk".

"I'm not sure that I understand," Thane said, "You take these mammals and extract the fluid they produce to feed their young. You then extract the fat from this fluid, and agitate it until it congeals, at which point you spread it on bread?" He was speaking to Kasumi Goto over breakfast, eating his own bowl of fruit while she munched on a piece of toast.

"Well, when you say it like that it sounds disgusting, yes, but it's good! Toast just isn't right without butter," she said. Thane shook his head. There were some things that he would never understand about other races, and human food was looking to be one of them. He had thought, initially, that their diets were fairly similar; meat, vegetables, fruits, grains, but then he had seen some crew members pouring a white liquid onto the cereal they often ate for the first meal of the day, and had asked what it was. The more he learned about milk, the more he decided that he was glad Drell didn't produce it.

"If you think that's bad, you should ask Miranda about her favorite cheese," Garrus piped up, "They take milk, then let it curdle, squish all of the curds together, and wait for it to get full of mold before eating it." The Turian gave an exaggerated shudder of disgust.

"Most species have different eating habits, tastes," said Mordin. The Salarian doctor was an endless source of scientific information with little tact, a fact that Thane had learned entertained most of the crew to no end. "Some humans find Salarian dishes containing insects repulsive, Turian fondness for raw meat disgusting. Fortunate that Normandy has supplies for all tastes and chiralities." Murmurs of agreement were voiced by most of the crew present.

"I'll stick to my toast," said Kasumi, taking another bite of the crunchy, cow-fluid-fat covered bread. Thane turned his attention back to his own meal. It was nice, to have so many other people present, talking and joking in this familiar way. He may not always be at the centre of the liveliest conversations, but he appreciated the camaraderie. Much of his life had been spent alone, out on assignments and contracts, or training to keep his body in peak condition. This friendly interaction was new to him, but he found himself enjoying it, even if it might be from the fringes.

The breakfast shift ended, and crew members went off to their own stations and posts. Meals were eaten in shifts, coinciding with who was on what rotation, so that the Mess was never filled beyond capacity, and so that people on night shift rotations weren't expected to eat breakfast when they were going to sleep for the day. Thane was impressed by the efficiency of the ship. He would have expected this sort of discipline in a military vessel, but Cerberus was composed mostly of civilians, so the competence of the crew and the scheduling spoke highly to Shepard's ability to command. He was in danger of getting lost in thought about the commander when Mordin approached him, and pulled him off to the side.

"Thane, would like to speak with you," he said, his words the usual fast and clipped, as though he was always in a rush to finish what he was saying and get on to the next thought, "Come by the lab when you have a moment. Important things to discuss."

"Of course, doctor," said Thane, "I'll be up in a few minutes." Mordin nodded, and then hurried off in the direction of the elevators. Thane was curious. What could the doctor have to discuss with him that was important? It couldn't have anything to do with his Kepral's Syndrome – that was Dr. Chakwas's area of expertise – and Thane didn't have any knowledge that would be helpful to a biologist, at least none that he knew of. His interest piqued, he hurried to his quarters in Life Support to get his morning exercises done before going to see Mordin.

These exercises were an important part of his treatment for the disease that was slowly removing his body's ability to process oxygen. In order to keep his lungs working as long as possible, he had a set workout every day, sometimes more than once if he didn't get out on a mission. He removed his leather jacket-shirt, draping it over the back of the room's chair, leaving himself in nothing but the close-fitting pants he customarily wore. His clothing was not just an aesthetic choice. The shirt and jacket, combined into one piece, had a variety of clips and holsters for various weapons and implements. The front of his shirt bared his chest between the pectoral muscles, allowing him easier breathing. The pants were tight to prevent them from getting caught on anything when he shimmied through ductwork or slipped into locked rooms. Even the color was chosen with a specific intent, dark like the shadows, allowing him the blend into the darkness. He did admit, however, that the collar on the coat was a concession to style, but he couldn't be blamed for wanting to look his best. He knelt on the floor, and prepared himself for his exercise routine.

It began with stretching slowly, his body sliding into various positions, gracefully moving from one to another. As he continued, his pace quickened, each pose coming faster, straining his muscles and lungs more. If he had been human, he would have been slick with sweat, but Drell didn't sweat. Having evolved on a desert planet, sweating was a waste of water unaffordable when it wasn't always certain when more would be available to replace what was lost. While this meant that Drell couldn't regulate their body temperature in the same way as humans or Asari, it suited Thane just fine. He liked warmth, also something stemming from his ancestors' desert-dwelling lifestyles, and he didn't begin to smell strongly when anxious or exerting himself. This was especially valuable in the life of an assassin, as scent could give him away just as much as sound or sight. He felt his lungs complaining at the paces he was putting them through, but ignored his body's protesting. Several months ago, these exercises had been easier on him, and he knew that he had to work to make sure they didn't get harder any faster than they already were.

Knowing that he was dying was a part of his life, now. When he had first been diagnosed, two years previously, with the disease that threatened every Drell who lived on Kahje, a planet so opposite from the desert they had come from, he had been both angry and relieved. His anger was at the unfairness of his situation, an immature reaction that he had quickly moved beyond. Relief had come from the knowledge that he wouldn't have to live for too much longer in a world where he had no one. It was different now, though. He was no longer alone, and reflecting on the short amount of time that he had left made him melancholy. He pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on his breathing and the movement of each limb, each muscle. He finished the final poses, resisting the urge to rush in order to see Mordin sooner, and straightened up. One last centering breath, a moment to just breathe in and out steadily, and he was done. He grabbed his shirt, pulling it on and heading for the elevator. He had to know what the mad Salarian was up to.

-x-X-x-

Mordin's lab was a haphazard jumble of technology and samples. It wasn't that it was messy – Thane suspected Mordin did not hold with disorganisation – but there were just so many… things. Everywhere. Every surface was covered with gadgets and equipment, and there was even a jar that contained what looked suspiciously like some sort of insect eggs. He decided that he'd rather not know what kind of bugs Mordin was cultivating, recalling the earlier discussion about eating habits. The Salarian turned to the sound of the door opening, and he greeted Thane,

"Ah, excellent, Thane. Wanted to speak with you. Have noticed your, ah, interest in Commander Shepard. Wanted to ensure proper health and safety measures are put into effect, in event of physical intimacy." If Thane had been any other man, he might have choked at Mordin's frankness. As such, he merely raised his brow slightly in surprise.

"I did not realise there were precautions necessary, doctor," he said, "I could simply perform some… research on the extranet and-" Mordin cut him off.

"No no no, extranet not useful. Too much irrelevant data, erroneous information. I have prepared several documents-" Thane was concerned now – how many documents worth of health and safety information could there be? "-and am forwarding them to your Omni-tool. Also, including information on human sexual anatomy, erogenous zones, preferences, and positions. Should be enough to get you started." Thane was reeling, but managed a quick nod before Mordin continued, "Also, be careful with oral contact, could cause mild hallucinations for humans-" 

Thane cut him off, "Hallucinations?" he asked, concerned, "Of what? Are the effects long-lasting, or-" This time Mordin interrupted him,

"Very mild, coronas around light sources, slight blurring of some colors. Nothing to be concerned about. Also, advise use of antihistamines for Shepard, prevent rash from skin-to-skin contact that may occur first few encounters." Thane managed to stammer out a response.

"I… thank you, Doctor Solus," he said. Mordin waved a hand, dismissing his thanks.

"No trouble, happy to help. Just want to make sure crew is safe, optimal for mission. Shepard could use stress relief, good for her health." Thane turned to leave, unsure of what else to say, when Mordin added one last thing, "Oh, and Thane?" he turned back,

"Yes, Mordin?"

"Have fun." The Salarian winked, and Thane nearly had a stroke. Mordin smiled in a way that almost seemed fatherly, and a stunned Thane nodded his thanks again, and walked back out of the lab and towards the elevator. That had been unpleasant, to say the least. The only thing that he could hope was that Shepard hadn't heard any of it. He didn't want her to think that he viewed their relationship from a purely physical perspective. Passing back through navigation, he spotted Shepard heading his way. He gave her a small smile, and she returned it with one of her own, a genuine expression that made her beautiful eyes light up.

"Hey Thane," she said, "Everything okay?" Her concern touched him.

"Yes, Siha," he answered, "Everything is fine. I was just speaking with doctor Solus about a… private matter." A very private matter, he added in his head. She nodded, and placed a hand on his arm. The sudden contact surprised him, and he was moved by the intimacy of it. His warrior angel cared for him. He still almost couldn't believe it.

"Okay, just let me know if there's something going on with your health, got it?" He nodded his assent. "Oh, and Thane?"

"Yes?"

"Are you free for dinner tonight? I'd love if you could join me in my quarters around 19:00." He tried not to betray his sudden flare of joy at the mischievous tone to her voice. Whatever she had planned, he had the feeling it would not be something he would soon forget.

"Of course, Siha. I would be delighted to join you for dinner," he answered. Her responding smile was like a ray of sunshine.

"Great," she said, "I'll see you then. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mordin said he wanted to talk to me about something." She walked off to the tech lab before Thane could recover and stop her. He was rooted to the spot, mortification spreading through his body.

"Are you alright, Thane?" Yeoman Chambers asked, "You look like you've seen a ghost." Thane fumbled for a moment, unable to come up with the right words, then gave up and simply turned and headed to the elevator, leaving Kelly Chambers standing with a puzzled look on her face. He escaped into the small space and pressed the button for the crew deck. He may not be able to prevent Shepard from facing a similar conversation as he'd just had with Mordin, but there was nothing that could make him wait around in navigation to face her when she came out from that lab. He leaned his head against the cool wall paneling.

"Damn you, Mordin," he whispered to himself.

-x-X-x-

The files that Mordin had sent to Thane's Omni-tool were detailed, to say the least. Thane was fairly certain that he did not need to know about human male arousal patterns (although he noted that Drell refractory periods were significantly shorter), and he knew that he would never find a use for the facts about number of ribs or average female hair length that were now a permanent part of his memory. Still, there had been some useful information amongst the more absurd and obscure details, and he had gleaned an overall understanding of how human bodies were both similar and different to Drell.

The reading material had also piqued his curiosity about Shepard's body. From what little he had felt in their small touches and occasional light kisses, Shepard's skin was significantly softer and smoother than his own. It also felt very fragile, as though running a sharp fingernail over its surface would split it open. He knew that this was not actually the case, as had been demonstrated by the human team members' resilience in battle, but it still captivated him and made him nervous at the same time. The information about hair had also intrigued him. He had already been fascinated by this strange human attribute, but reading about how hair could be used during sex made it even more interesting. He knew that hair itself had no nerves, and thus could not feel pain or pleasure, but he hadn't appreciated that the roots were connected to thousands of nerve endings along the scalp, and that playing with or pulling on hair could produce pleasure in humans. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, imagining Shepard letting out a small moan as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

He checked his Omni-tool again. Dinner was still two hours away. Groaning, he leaned back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling as he focused on sending his mind somewhere else. Somewhere other than above Shepard, her hands grasping him and pulling him towards her as he kissed a trail down her soft, warm neck.

Thane pushed himself up out of the chair. This wasn't working. He needed to distract himself. It was bad enough that he had just read all about Shepard's body and sexual pleasure, but knowing that Mordin had likely given her similar information about him and that she was possibly reading about his own erogenous zones just made it worse. It had obviously been far too long since he'd been with a woman. 

Dropping to the ground, he began doing push-ups, working to take his mind off the tantalizing mental image of Shepard knowing all the right places to touch and tease him. He huffed as he dropped to the ground and pushed himself up, quickly falling into a fast rhythm that, while not overly strenuous, had him breathing heavily. It worked, at first, but then the rhythm got him thinking about another sort of rhythm that could develop between two bodies, hips pistoning forward to bring a lover to her peak. He stopped doing push-ups and switched to crunches, but that just made him painfully aware of the bulge in the front of his pants. Sighing, he lay flat on his back, and began practicing meditation breathing techniques. Breathe in… 2, 3, 4, breathe out… 2, 3, 4… This pattern repeated, slowly calming his mind and bringing him to a peaceful, trancelike state. It wasn't long before he started to drift off, slowly easing his way into sleep.

Once again, he dreamed of Shepard, but this time it wasn't the intense dreams about kissing her that he had been having, but something far worse. He was tied to a chair, naked, unable to move. Shepard stood in front of him, a smug smile playing on her lips.

"Not so stealthy when you're all tied up, are you assassin?" she said, and ran her fingers up across his torso, her nails scraping lightly in a path from his abdomen to his collarbone. He tried to maintain a tranquil pattern of breathing, to keep his body calm, but when her fingernails reached the sensitive folds on either side of his neck, the spike of arousal was too intense, and he felt himself getting hard. He didn't like being restrained; unable to defend himself, or touch her for that matter, but his body didn't seem to mind. Shepard obviously noticed it too. "Well, seems like you're enjoying yourself," she laughed, cold and mocking, "Maybe I can get what I'm after without having to resort to more… unpleasant methods." Her eyes flicked over to a wall nearby. Thane followed her gaze, and found himself staring at an array of implements more commonplace in a dungeon than a bedroom.

"What are you doing, Siha?" he asked. Now he was just confused. That confusion quickly turned to alarm when the next sentence passed Shepard's lips,

"You think you can just waltz onto my ship and try to kill me? I'm going to find out who sent you. We can do it the easy way, or the hard way. Your choice." Thane began struggling in earnest against the bindings on his wrists.

"I haven't tried to kill you, Shepard. I would never harm you," he said while simultaneously trying to work his hand through the loop of rope behind his back. Shepard made that same cold, hard laugh,

"Okay, hard way it is," she said, and reached over to grab some sort of device that, when she flicked the on switch, arced with electricity. Thane's eyes widened, and he began to thrash, desperate to get free and stop her, desperate to figure out what was going on. Shepard's eyes lit with heartless glee as she brought the instrument closer to his chest, and a spike of current jumped to Thane's skin, causing his muscles to tighten painfully. Any initial arousal that he had felt was gone, replaced with horror. She smiled, and brought the device in for another shock, and Thane jumped, his eyes opening suddenly.

He was lying on the floor in Life Support, and he couldn't breathe. A cough racked his chest, and he pulled himself up into a sitting position, struggling to pull in enough air. He didn't know if the dream had brought on the sudden shortness of breath caused occasionally by Kepral's Syndrome, or if the shortness of breath had brought on the unpleasant dream, but regardless, there was a terrifying moment between coughing out one lungful of air and pulling in the next where he wasn't sure if he'd be able to draw another breath.

Understanding that panic only made his symptoms worse, he quickly fell back on his training as an assassin, and the variety of techniques he knew for calming both mind and body. It was difficult at first, but the frantic thudding of his heart gradually slowed and his breathing returned to a regular pace. Fortunately, although his Kepral's Syndrome was fairly advanced, these attacks were still few and far between. Most of his symptoms were of a milder, everyday variety, and were manageable with exercise and treatment. 

EDI's voice suddenly came over the comm, “Are you alright, Thane?" the ship's AI asked, "The Normandy's internal systems showed that you had an elevated heart rate and decreased breathing. I was not certain if you would wish for me to contact Doctor Chakwas, as I could see that you were attempting to manage the problem on your own." Thane took a moment before answering. He was not pleased that he must have missed a camera hidden in Life Support if EDI could still see him, but he would be able to search his makeshift quarters again – he looked at the time on his Omni-tool – after dinner with Shepard.

"Thank you, EDI," he said, "But I'm fine now. Would you please tell Commander Shepard that I will be at her quarters by 19:05." It was still only 18:50, but he needed a few minutes to catch his breath and recover from the dream. EDI replied in the affirmative, and Thane was again left alone.

He was not the sort of man to be nervous around a woman, but Shepard put him off-centre on a good day, and the dream had only served to magnify that anxiety. He tried to reason with himself, the sensible part of his brain informing the less-rational parts of him that there was nothing to be concerned with, and that this was the same Shepard with whom he had spoken and dined alongside dozens of times before. While it may have been marginally effective, he still found himself needing to slow his breathing and calm down when he stepped into the elevator several minutes later. Whatever Shepard had in store for him, he only hoped that it would go more smoothly than his dreams through the past week, or Doctor Chakwas might find herself having to perform an autopsy on him instead of her usual Kepral's Syndrome treatments. As the doors closed in front of him, he sent a silent prayer to Arashu, and added an extra line to the end of the traditional supplication,

"And please, Arashu," he said, "Help me to not make a complete fool of myself tonight."

-x-X-x-

The door to Shepard's cabin slid open, and her smiling face greeted Thane when he entered. She was dressed in the usual outfit that she wore when not in battle, black pants, white and black shirt, combat boots. While some men might have wanted to see her in something softer, more feminine, he liked this ensemble on her. This was Shepard as herself, not trying to change to fit some sort of arbitrary social protocol of dressing for a dinner with a romantic partner, or whatever he was to her. He was glad that she had not worn something more extravagant, as his very limited supply of clothing restricted him to his usual leathers in black, in grey, in navy, or his sleep clothing, or "PJs" as Kasumi had referred to them as. Another human phrase he'd had to look up on the extranet. After being very confused by Jack asking him if something called a bear defecated in the woods, he had simply downloaded a guide to human expressions to his Omni-tool, and kept it handy for future reference.

"Hey Thane," she said, standing to one side and gesturing that he should enter, "Come on in." Her tone was playful, and Thane felt a smile dancing on the corners of his mouth. He definitely hadn't smiled this much in a very long time; possibly ever. The door slid closed behind him, and he took in the commander's quarters. They were very nice, as far as military living quarters went, and had obviously been designed by Cerberus and not the Alliance. He doubted that the original Normandy would have had anything so spacious for its commanding officer. A glass case separated the office space from the bedroom, and it was filled with model ships. The corner of Thane's mouth quirked up. Who would have guessed? Of all things, Shepard collected model ships. The wall to his left was dominated by a softly glowing fish tank, strangely devoid of any actual inhabitants.

"No fish?" he asked, and Shepard gave him a sheepish smile.

"I just keep killing them," she said, "Between being away from the ship all the time, and just forgetting to feed them when I am here, they don't stand a chance. There's actually one store on the Citadel that flat out refuses to sell me any more fish. They know it's just a senseless waste of life." Her smile betrayed her amusement, and Thane fought the urge to kiss her. He had only just entered her quarters, and whatever they had was still very new; he didn't want her to misunderstand his intentions and think he was only there for physical reasons.

"I believe that you asked me here for dinner?" he said, distracting himself from the endearing way that her nose wrinkled when she grinned. He was rewarded with another smile, this one coy, and she took his hand, leading him to the low table just beyond her desk. There were several dishes of food sitting on it, and two plates. Also present was a bottle of something, and two wine glasses. "What are we having?" he asked. A faintly guilty look crossed Shepard's face before she answered.

"Well, we're having whatever Rupert made us. I… don't really cook much. Aside from pasta, and eggs… and toast. I'm pretty good at toast." A full-fledged smile broke out on Thane's face, and Shepard reached her hand out to caress his cheek.

"I like it when you smile," she said, and ran the soft pad of her thumb along his cheekbone, making his heart pick up speed.

"I'll endeavour to do so more often, then," he said, and she shook her head at him, chuckling. Still holding hands – a fact that he was enjoying more than he let on – they sat at the table, both along the same side of the large square, much like when they sat next to each other in the Mess. The food was also very familiar; the exact same thing that was on the menu for the rest of the crew, in fact, but Thane was there for the company, not the cuisine.

They chatted while they ate, Shepard telling him about what Earth had been like growing up there, and he telling her about Kahje. He noticed that she skimmed over some of the details of her childhood, but he knew well enough that she would share those things when she was ready. Growing up on the streets of earth couldn't have been easy, and it spoke to Shepard's strength of will and character that she had made a good life for herself after such difficult beginnings. As they finished their meal, their conversation turned to the coming invasion by the Reapers. Thane knew that Shepard was frustrated by the Council's staunch refusal to believe her, to acknowledge that a race of impossibly powerful sentient machines were, at that very moment, heading towards the galaxy with the sole purpose of eliminating organic life. He could also understand the Council's sightlessness. Some people, such as himself, Shepard, and the rest of her team, could handle the sort of information that they had, others couldn't. It was a self-defence mechanism, defending their own sanity, that people dismissed the attack on the Citadel two years previous as an anomalous event, perpetrated by Saren and the synthetic Geth, and the corpse of the Reaper Sovereign as simply wreckage of a Geth dreadnaught. That did not, however, make it any less exasperating for those who knew the truth.

"I just wanted to slug one of them," Shepard was saying about the Council, "After everything that I did, they were just ignoring me. No, worse, they were suggesting I was delusional. They used air quotes, for god's sake!" She sighed, and Thane reached out, placing a hand around her shoulders in a gesture of comfort. She looked up at him with a sad smile, and then leaned over. He suddenly found himself sitting with Shepard resting against his shoulder, her breath gusting lightly over his chest. He dared not move, afraid to break whatever spell had somehow delivered this warrior angel to his arms. She sighed lightly.

"Relax, Thane," she said, "You're thinking way too much right now." He opened his mouth to speak,

"Siha, I-" she cut him off by raising her finger to press against his lips, and swung her legs around, so that she was all but seated in his lap.

"Just enjoy the moment," she said, and then she completely threw him off guard by nestling her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder. Her face was tantalisingly close to the sensitive frills on his throat, and he almost had to bite back a groan. He turned his neck, pressing his lips to the top of her head and inhaling deeply. She smelled wonderful, her hair was fragrant and floral, and felt like silk under his lips. Tentatively, he reached a hand up and placed it on the back of her head, gently stroking his fingers down the orange-red tresses, marveling at the way that her breathing slowed and her body relaxed against him. Trying to take her advice, he willed his body to relax and "just enjoy the moment". It worked; the soft sound of Shepard's breathing was soothing, and he relished the sensation of running his fingers through and around and between the strands of her hair. For a time, in that rare moment, he was finally able to find some measure of peace.


End file.
